What's Left Of The Flag
by Banisters
Summary: The story of why Hull and Spot don't get along.
1. Walk Away Me Boys

**Disclaimer: Spot and the other newsies mentioned in this story belong to Disney. The others are MINE.**

**Before reading: Go to the URLs on my profile to see pictures of Hull, Massachusetts (yes, Hull is named after Hull.) **

Hull's lungs felt like an inferno, combusting and igniting each time he took a breath. One of his hands clutched his aching chest as he ran, the other grasped Spot's.

"Don't let go of me!" Spot screamed. Hull's lungs hurt too much for him to respond, and his throat was dry from breathing so fast anyways. His feet were starting to go into a strange numb feeling from slapping on the brick street.

"Hull! Slow down!"

Hull whirled his head around to glance at Spot, who was practically being dragged. Hull wanted to slow down more than anything and take a break, but they couldn't. He turned right, out of the alley, and sprinted towards the pier. The smell of fish invaded his nostrils and churned the bile in his stomach. Apparently, the odor was effected Spot as well, for he gagged slightly.

"The water!" he said between retches. Hull nodded and jogged to the edge of the dock. He was about to dive in when Spot tripped and fell on top of him. Normally, Hull's stubbornness would have coaxed him to get up, but he was in too much pain for internal encouragement. Spot struggled to move, but managed to roll over so only his leg was on Hull. The two lay sprawled over splintered wood, panting like the netted fish beside them. The sound of hooves thundered behind them, but they were too weak to attempt to jump into the water.

"Spot…Push me…"

"W-what?"

"Ya push…me…I'll p-p-pull ya in…"

Spot winced as he placed his hand on Hull's ribs. His muscles felt like elastic that was stretched too far.

"It hurts…"

"Damn right…Now push…"

Spot obeyed and shoved Hull into the water, grabbing his calf as he submerged. The water refreshed their sore bodies as they splashed into it, alleviating some of the pain from running. Both of them sunk to the bottom shallow water and became tangled in seaweed. Hull, being the stronger swimmer, pulled himself out of the grappling fingers of the plant. Spot panicked when he realized he was caught and pumped his stinging legs rapidly.

"Hull!"

His call for help drowned in a mass of bubbles, but his urgency could be sensed by Hull. After surfacing, Hull dove down again to free his friend, despite his yearning to stay above the small waves. They resurfaced, sputtering and choking, and groaned. They still had to hide under the docks. Grabbing Spot's hand once again, Hull treaded under the wooden shelter. Spot grabbed onto a wooden column and coughed. Hull lifted a finger to his lips and looked at the "roof" of the pier. Spot flinched as he heard the hoof beats on the planks.

"Dammit! Send someone into the water to get them!"

"That won't be necessary. After all that running, those kids must be exhausted."

"Meaning?"

"They'll drown."

Spot let out of cough of relief when the police officers left. Hull smiled and sunk into the water, then bobbed up again.

"What are ya doin'?" Spot asked.

"Floating away our troubles…"

"That don't work…"

Hull stained his neck to look at Spot.

"I know, but it feels pretty nice. Try it, Spot."

Spot leaned back in the water and was consumed by it briefly, then carried back up. The soothing little waves felt good, even though his clothes were chaffing against his skin.

"Ya think they'll get someone back out here to look for us?"

"I doubt it. Not until morning, anyways…"

"Then we're safe?"

"We're never safe in Massachusetts, Spot."

Spot stopped floating and grabbed onto the pier post.

"Whatdaya mean, Hull?"

"Ya gotta go back to Brooklyn…And I'm goin' with ya…"

**Since a bunch of people were all: "Why does Spot hate Hull so much?" and "Why is Spot so mean to Hull?" after chapter 3 of The Working Boys of New York, I decided to make a short story about why Spot and Hull hate each other. At the moment, they're good friends (NOT gay, the hand holding is kinda natural when you're about to get thrown in jail or killed.) **


	2. And By Mornin We'll Be Free

The two boys rested under the dock until the canvas-like sky was painted with streaks of tangerine, salmon, and indigo.

"Ya think we should go up now?" Spot asked. Hull nodded and swam from beneath the shelter and pulled himself onto the pier. The effort over-exerted his already trembling muscles and left him moaning. A few minutes later Hull felt pressure on his side and realized Spot was poking him.

"Urrghnn…" Hull grunted.

"Help me up!" Spot hissed.

Hull sighed and thrust his hand into the water and pulled Spot up, grunting in pain. Spot flopped onto the dock with him, and for a long time, they lay breathing heavily. Finally, Hull sat up and pulled off his shoes.

"What are ya doin'?" Spot asked.

Hull ignored Spot and closely examined his feet, gingerly prodding each toe. The skin was the texture of raisin, but Hull didn't mind. It was the bleeding blisters he was concerned about.

"Whoa!" Spot gasped when he caught a glimpse of the raw wounds.

"Shit…"

"Ya can't walk to Brooklyn like that, can ya?"

Hull shrugged.

"I dunno, Spot. A few pin-pricks can't get in the way of running for our lives…"

"Our lives? They won't kill us!"

"Well, let's think logically, okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's see…We went to Boston and lit someone's house on fire…I dunno Spot, what do ya think?"

Spot flinched at the bitter words of Hull and sighed. They hadn't meant for it to happen, they were just playing around with some embers.

"_Whoa, Spot!" Hull shouted at he jumped away from the flame. Spot leapt back with him and watched as the fire consumed the trash they'd ignited._

"_Put it out, Hull!"_

_Hull stomped on the fire, but with no luck. He tore off his jacket and threw it over the flames to smother it, but like the trash, it caught on fire. _

"_Shit!"_

_Spot spit into the combusted garbage. Hull tossed a skeptical look at him and raised his eyebrows, forming a "What good will that do?" face. Spot spit into it again while Hull fingered at his zipper. _

"_And I'm the one with the bad idea!" Spot growled. Hull ignored his comment and shoved his friend's face away as he undid his fly. Spot turned away as Hull peed on the wisps of orange and yellow. A few seconds later, Spot turned around to see that the urine had only fueled the fire._

"_Shit, let's bail!"_

_Spot didn't need to be told twice. The two arsonists jogged away as the flame reached a height of 7 feet. The smell of smoke was thick on their clothes and they received several suspicious looks as they fled. A few moments later the sound of a scream penetrated their ears. _

Spot shuddered at the memory and looked at Hull.

"Whatcha starin at, Spot?"

"We really screwed up…"

"Ya think?"

"We was just messin' around and someone died…"

"Will ya shut up? It's bad enough I gotta live with the memory. I don't need a reminder…"

"If they catch us…"

"They won't!"

"We'll be charged with arson…"

"Spot!"

"And manslaughter…"

Unexpectedly, Hull stood up and threw a plank of driftwood into the water. Spot cringed as the dead wood splashed violently into the waves. Although Hull was generally calm, he could still be volatile, and Spot was still not used to that flaw in his personality.

"Shut it, Spot! Just shut it!"

Spot recognized a high pitch in Hull's voice.

"Are you _crying!"_ he asked.

Hull took a sharp breath and plunged into the water.

"This is what I had to deal with when I left Brooklyn…It's not so bad…"

Hull's head appeared at the side of the dock.

"But youse goin' _back_ to Brooklyn. I'm never coming back."

A mournful sob woke Spot in the middle of the night. He shifted uncomfortably on the planks of the dock to face Hull. The moonlight glistened off the boy's irritated red eyes and tears. Spot opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. That's what Hull had wanted; for him to shut it. Hull was unaware that Spot was watching him and cried harder.

"Youse so stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!" he scolded himself. "Youse a worthless rat; a pitiful scavenger! Nobody likes ya! Ya own mom didn't want ya!"

Spot awkwardly listened to him until the self-abuse became too much to bear.

"Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop it, Hull!" Spot leaned over and placed a supportive arm on Hull's shoulder. Hull crumbled into Spot, burying his head in his chest. Although Spot usually would have recoiled and cursed at him, he stayed silent and still.

"I just can't stand it, Spot! I can't leave here…I can't…"

"Yes ya can!"

"No I can't!"

"Hull, ya can, trust me!"

"How do ya know?"

"Because I'm ya best friend and I'll be there for ya. Ya got it?"

Hull sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"I got it."

* * *

**Aw, I felt all emotional writing this. I tried pretty hard to make this appear non-slashy, but it doesn't look that way, does it? Well, hey, best friends can get away with that, even if they are guys. Meh. I was originally going to make their crime tipping over a big thing of molasses and causing the Great Molasses Spill in Boston, but this didn't happen until 1919 (yes, it really happened, read a book called Joshua's Song for more info, PS: Josh is a paperboy too, if I recall).**  



	3. Wipe That Golden Tear

"I hate fish…" Spot growled the next morning. "Hate it."

Hull laughed and picked a piece of meat off the ribs of the fish, the pointy white bones pricking his fingers. Spot shuddered in disgust and wiped off the scales from his hands on his pants.

"How can you eat that? It tastes so…fishy!"

Hull smiled and made an ecstatic face, then slowly and gently dropped a chunk of fish into his mouth. He chewed slowly, exaggerating the flavor, giving the meat a false "taste ego". Hull swallowed and closed his eyes, sighing contently.

"Geez, what was that? A fish-gasm?"

"Actually, it tastes like shit. But seafood is just part of your diet when you live here…" Hull's voice faded as the sadness of last night re-entered his mind. He shook his head, leaving his messy blonde hair looking rather shaggy.

"How can you eat _that_!" he said, changing the subject. He raised an eyebrow at the potato in Spot's hand.

"You _don't_ like potatoes! What's wrong with you! Everyone likes potatoes!"

"I'm not Irish, Spot. Besides, they taste like dirt!"

"Because they're in the ground! That fish of yours tastes like saltwater!"

Hull snickered and stretched out on the dock. Spot scowled and massaged his aching calves, rubbing away the tension from yesterday's fright. A few seagulls squawked and flew lazily, occasionally swooping down to the boys to peck at their stolen meal. Hull swatted them away casually while Spot eyed the birds suspiciously.

"They don't have gulls in Brooklyn?"

"Nah, they do. The ones 'round here are different. More uh…daring. Risky."

"Why do ya say that?"

"We shoot 'em in Brooklyn if they get close to us. Ya know, with slingshots."

Hull's jaw dropped. He loved teasing the birds, but never had he attempted to kill one. Sure, he was tough, but he'd never killed an animal, except for clams, fish, and oysters. And, of course, the person in the fire.

"Whatsamatta? It's just a bird."

"But…they represent the freedom of the ocean. If I could be any bird, I'd be a seagull."

"What are ya, a poet? They represent nothing but trash. Anyone ever tell ya what pigeons are like?"

"Rats of the sky."

"Right. Them birds are the pigeons of the sea."

"There's nothing wrong with pigeons or gulls, Spot."

"Yeah there is. They're filthy scavengers."

Only when he stopped talking did Spot realize his mistake. Hull stood up and glared at him, his eyes veiled by a sheet of glossy tears.

"I didn't mean-"

"Shut it."

"Not again, Hull, please-"

"SHUT IT!"

"Fuck…"

"_The boy's a thief, I tell ya. He's been stealing lobsters."_

"_What? Caleb? He wouldn't steal."_

"_Saw 'em with my own two eyes. Picked a small critter and jammed it in his pocket. The kid was squirming away, that little demon was pinchin' 'im. Serves 'em right, though."_

"_Nah, liar. He wouldn't do that. 'Sides, he can't kill anything but scallops and bass."_

"_It's an act, man, an act. He's been swipin' them for weeks now. He's a scavenger."_

_Hull stopped and eased his grip on the lobster in his hand. The animal, sensing his relief, took advantage of the opportunity and clamped a claw on Hull's finger._

"_Cripes!" he blurted._

_The two workers turned around, stunned at the interruption._

"_I ain't lying. There's ya proof."_

"_Scavenger."_

"Don't ever call me that again, ya got it?"

Spot nodded anxiously. He stood and walked past Hull while unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed it at Hull and leaned over the edge of the dock.

"Here," he growled. "Ya got ya tears and snot on it last night."

Their conversation ended with a splash.

**  
Dun dun dun. As you can see, there's some friction between Spot and Hull-Shore. In the upcoming chapters, there'll be some more flashbacks. But, just to clear up any confusion, Hull used to be a fisherman…er….fisherboy. And, hopefully you noticed this, Hull has a huge problem with being called a "scavenger". Also, I'm starting to get a Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn vibe from these two. And, one more thing, Hull is sort of being based off of Bobby from All The Little Animals. Sort of.  
**


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